


Destiny

by alex_kade



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Feelings, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Loss, M/M, Rebirth, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:47:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_kade/pseuds/alex_kade
Summary: Everything is lost, and yet everything is found.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 4
Kudos: 85





	Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> I had started this as a tinyfic for twitter and then I was like "No, it'll have to be a thread" and then clearly it was too long even for that so here we are. I wrote this at like 3:30 in the morning because of course that's when the boys decided they needed to speak to me. I got three hours of sleep before editing so hopefully it's not full of typos and nonsense.

The first time Nicolo fitted his body with Yusuf’s he had cried.

The salt on his cheeks was not a display of joy, nor was it a brand of shame. Nicolo was a man of God, but no less a hardened warrior as brutal with his blade as any soldier milked on the tit of war. He cut down men who stood in the way of his learned righteousness; Nicolo di Genova did not cry.

He did not weep when he arose, unblemished, from his first death. It had been a miracle bestowed upon him by his God, a blessing to stand and fight again in His honor. And to do it again. And again. And again. An immortal soldier. 

He had not shed a tear when he realized an enemy had been blessed the same, a discovery that made him question, for the first time, his own beliefs. It had torn at him, but still, a calm acceptance had washed over him in the end. That was the day he had laid down his sword.

But on this day, a day when a coupling had transformed what was once tentative friendship into indisputable love, Nicolo could not stop the steady outpouring of his emotions. This moment, he knew, had changed everything so concretely that any trial that had come before it now could not compare.

He had died and had not been welcomed through the gates of Heaven. He had betrayed his country but could not be cut down for his treasons. Now he had spat in the face of everything he had been fighting for—he had let his heart and body be taken by another man, and felt no shame for it. Not an ounce of remorse. And he was not being struck down by an angry God. 

He cried because in that moment, despite all his years of loyalty and bloodshed in the name of his country and his God, he had never felt more _right_ ; which meant that everything he’d believed in, everything he’d fought for, everything he thought he knew about himself had been _wrong_ , and it made him dizzy with the sensation of this newfound groundlessness.

A hand reached out to grasp his, holding him firm, keeping him from floating away. Nicolo looked up and caught brown eyes staring back at him, red-rimmed with the sting of tears that mirrored his own. Nicolo could see it now, clear as a lonely drop of morning dew beaded precariously on the edge of a fragile petal.

Yusuf understood. 

No, not just understood; a different man from a different world, yet Yusuf _felt it_ just the same. He was bathed in it, the same monumental significance of what they had just done, what they both would continue to do. They had willingly detached themselves from their entire lives, defied the words, the camaraderie, the love from everyone and everything they had ever known; and for what? The forbidden love of an enemy soldier in both the eyes of man and God?

Forbidden. No. Even stripped down, flayed open and purged of all he was before, Nicolo knew that wasn’t true. This was a gift, a blessing, one he felt with all his being he was always meant to have.

Nicolo tugged on the hand still clasped in his, pulling Yusuf against his chest in a tight embrace.

“ _I am here_ ,” he said firmly, chin resting on Yusuf’s shoulders so his promise could reach his ear, an oath spoken in the tongue of his own beloved people he was swearing to leave behind. 

“ _I am here,”_ Yusuf wept back, an echo of Nicolo’s words spoken in the language of a people that Nicolo had long since stopped believing were the enemy.

It was an assurance each of them would repeat time and time again—both in words and in seeking glances—as they walked centuries through a world that was ever-changing, ever-violent, and ever-lonely if not for Nicolo’s hand in Yusuf’s and Yusuf’s hand in Nicolo’s. Nothing was consistent in the universe except for that one promise made on a night where the very idea of consistency had burned to ash in the fires of love, and then soothed equally, achingly, by its unified tears.

_I am here._

_And I always will be._

_For you._

_La Fine_


End file.
